


he broke it off with a heartfelt letter, I thought I can do better than that

by bookishandbossy



Series: the next four years (college au) [4]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: College AU, F/M, Fitz POV, Skye sees right through them, break-ups, the shameless fluff continues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-09
Updated: 2015-01-09
Packaged: 2018-03-06 20:48:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3148100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bookishandbossy/pseuds/bookishandbossy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Right.  You're sad that Jemma is single again and the Cybermen say exterminate.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	he broke it off with a heartfelt letter, I thought I can do better than that

**Author's Note:**

> again, the title comes from "I Can Do Better Than That" from The Last Five Years.

Fitz fidgeted in front of Jemma's door, raised his hand to knock, dropped it, and slumped against the wall and groaned. Normally, he knew every one of Jemma's break-up routines. He'd begun to stock up on ice cream and romantic comedies about two weeks ago, when she'd started to go on long rants about Ryan's collection of vintage baseball cards, which she'd thought was cute a month ago, and glared at her phone whenever it rang. Fitz even suspected that she'd pencilled it in to her calendar, after he'd spotted a cryptic notation reading B with R for next Saturday at 2pm. But then Ryan had failed to get the message. He'd broken up with Jemma. Through a note. The week before finals.

Skye was in Jemma's room right now, probably with a large bottle of wine, and he was pretty sure that female friends had precedence in these kinds of things. His job was probably to offer to do nasty, manly things to her ex-boyfriend. Not that he was capable of doing anything like that without a fully-stocked laboratory. It was the thought that counted, he reasoned. And he had lots of thoughts about Jemma, most of them revolving around the precise nature of her perfection and how he'd yet to see her date anyone who came remotely close to being good enough for her. Fitz might not have been the most impartial of observers, since he was beginning to suspect that he actually might be madly in love with Jemma himself, but he liked to think that he was a good enough scientist to tell which of Jemma's romantic experiments was doomed to fail. (This particular one had been doomed from the first time Ryan had insisted on taking her to a baseball game and Jemma had forced Fitz to invent a lab emergency and call her halfway through.)

Screw precedence, he decided, and knocked firmly on her door. She was his Jemma and the ice cream was going to melt if he stayed out here much longer. “ _Finally_ ,” Skye said when she pulled the door open. “She's only been asking where you were for the past ten minutes and going on and on about how Fitz does this, and Fitz does that, and could I go and see if Fitz was back yet. It's like you guys have a little breakup party and I'm not invited.”

“You're always invited to our parties,” he said reassuringly. “Not that this is a party. Why would we even throw a breakup party? Both Jemma and I are very sad that Ryan broke up with her.”

“Right. You're sad that Jemma is single again and the Cybermen say exterminate.” Skye stepped aside to let him in. “ That's the bit where you congratulate me on my successful Doctor Who reference.” There was an awkward pause. “That _was_ Doctor Who, right?” Skye bent down to grab a huge canvas bag from the floor. “I'm heading out in a few minutes anyway, because my tutor threatened to tell Professor Coulson if I skipped any more econ study session, so consider this an official transfer of responsibility. Make sure she doesn't make any drunken phone calls.”

“Fitz!” Jemma practically squealed his name as she leaped up from her bed and flung her arms around him, wobbling slightly and squeezing tightly enough that he could almost hear his ribs crack. He could smell the wine on her breath when she reached up to plant a messy kiss on his cheek. “Fitz, I'm so glad you're here. Do you have any nasty inventions in the engineering labs that we could set on Ryan?”

“No nasty inventions until you're sober,” he told her firmly. “But I do have chocolate peanut butter ice cream and four different John Hughes movies.” Jemma clapped her hands in delight and pulled him over to her bed, looping an arm around his waist and leaning her weight against him, and he promptly revised his estimate of just how much she'd had to drink when she practically climbed into his lap on the bed. They'd always been comfortable with each other, but never quite this comfortable, as she wrapped herself around him like he was her favorite stuffed animal. She wrapped his arms around her and positioned herself between his legs, pressing in close, and Fitz thought that things could get very awkward very soon if she went much further. But then he handed her the ice cream and a spoon and she hunched forward over her ice cream, eating it with great concentration like she was five again, and he was pretty sure that it was the most adorable thing he'd ever seen. “So we have _Pretty in Pink, Sixteen Candles, The Breakfast Club_ , and _Ferris Bueller's Day Off_ on DVD and, ever since Skye taught me how to Internet,” Skye's words, not his. “I can pretty much find whatever eighties movie we want to watch. _Dirty Dancing, Footloose, Heathers_?” he asked softly.

“ _Heathers_. I'm in a vicious mood.” Jemma stabbed the ice cream with her spoon and swallowed at least a quarter of the carton in two spoonfuls. Really, it was like she lacked any kind of gag reflex—and for the sake of his own sanity, he was not going to go there. “And _Ferris Bueller_ after. Can you stay tonight?”

“I'll stay for as long as I can, I promise. At the very least, until your roommate kicks me out.” He leaned forward to rub her back. “I'm sorry about what happened. Do you want to talk about it?”

“I didn't even like him that much,” Jemma admitted and stabbed the ice cream again. “I'm mostly mad that he didn't even break up with me in person. Who breaks up with someone in a note? If he was going to ruin my perfect streak of always being the dumper, he could at least have given me the opportunity to call him names and make a scene. Meanie.” 

“You can do better than him,” he said, trying to keep his tone light. “You've probably got a whole group of candidates to replace him lined up already—everyone'll be falling all over themselves to date you, like always.”

“I probably do. But I don't want any of them.” Jemma shook her head firmly. “They're all so boring. They all look the same, they all talk the same, they all want the same things, they all sleep with me in the exact same boring way. Why can't I find anyone interesting, Fitz?” He shrugged, trying to hold back the answer on the tip of his tongue, and she twisted around to pout at him and offer him a spoonful of ice cream. But when he reached for the spoon, she pulled it away and insisted that he open his mouth. He sighed, acquiesced, and swallowed.

“This is proof that you're drunk,” he informed her.

“I'm not drunk!” she protested. “I'm just mad. And I want _Heathers_.” She poked him. “Why is _Heathers_ not happening?”

“It's happening in a minute. You have to let go of me in order for _Heathers_ to happen. Sound good?”

“No.” Jemma shook her head firmly. “I don't ever want to let go of you. You're much too nice to hold on to. You're an exceptional best friend, Leopold Fitz, have I ever told you that?” She didn't wait for an answer, just put the ice cream down on the floor and scooted closer until she was kneeling between his legs. “And you have a very pretty face. Which may not be an essential best friend quality, but is still a very important one. You have a pretty everything, in fact.” He wasn't sure if he was supposed to say thank you or not. Either way, he didn't get the chance because Jemma leaned forward and, with typical Jemma determination (if not typical Jemma precision), pressed her mouth to his. 

He kissed her back, of course, because the universe in which Leo Fitz wouldn't kiss Jemma Simmons back simply didn't exist. 

They didn't fit together neatly. His teeth scraped against her bottom lip, and she nearly made him fall over when she moved to straddle his thighs and fit in his lap properly, and he was embarrassingly short of breath for the amount of time they'd been kissing. She tugged on his curls too hard, making him grumble in the back of his throat, but then she slid her tongue across his and he was back to being utterly overwhelmed by her. It was messy and unexpected and it was _glorious_. 

But then she attacked his belt with one hand, yanking at the buttons of his shirt with the other, and he remembered how and when and why she was kissing him. “Jemma!” he gasped. “Jemma, I think we need to stop for a minute.”

“Why?” She had his jeans all the way open now—how had she learned to do that with one hand?--and his brain short-circuited for a minute. Jemma grinned up at him wickedly and Fitz groaned, fairly convinced that she was going to be the death of him.

“Because you're drunk and mad and stressed out about finals and I'm not very capable of rational thought at the moment. And, however much our bodies may think it is, this is not a good idea right now.” He inched away from her, since his few remaining rational thoughts would abruptly vanish if he stayed that close, and took a deep breath. “If later, when you're calm and sober and not a walking ball of stress, you still want to passionately make out with me, I...I would be interested. Very, very interested. I think that you know how I feel about you.”

“Maybe I do. I'll...I'll think about what I want. Without the wine.” She hugged her knees to her chest and looked up at him with enormous brown eyes. “Please don't go yet. I promise that I'll keep my hands to myself.” She held up a purple shag pillow. “We can even have a pillow barrier if you want?” He nodded slowly and her smile when he did was bright enough to power an entire electric grid.

Jemma was true to her word. She kept her hands to herself for the entire night. And the next day. And the day after that. And the day after that, until Fitz began to wonder if he had simply dreamed the entire thing. Until they were back at the airport together, ready to go back to the UK for a month's vacation before they flew back to the States together (Skye was already threatening a road trip), sipping tea at Starbucks and unwilling to go to their gates.

“That's me,” he finally said, when they announced the last call for Edinburgh. “I'll see you soon, right? And we'll talk and text and Skype and by the time we see each other again, it'll be like—” He was going to say something else, something important, but then she threw her arms around him and kissed him in the middle of the airport like it was the last chance she'd ever get.

It wasn't like the first time they kissed. It was better.


End file.
